


To Trust Someone Else

by SpartanGuard



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Injury, Episode: s02e08 Into The Deep, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-10-14 17:03:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20604260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpartanGuard/pseuds/SpartanGuard
Summary: Emma's wondering if maybe she judged Hook too quickly when the man himself stumbles out of the forest—bleeding profusely. “I...I didn't know where else to go,” he murmurs. She has to decide if she'll trust in him, or continue to write him off as nothing but a villain. (Canon-divergent from 2x08; inspired by a tumblr post.)





	To Trust Someone Else

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this tumblr post](https://samwellwinchesterthebrave.tumblr.com/post/186755738565/the-hero-shows-up-at-the-villains-doorstep-one): The hero shows up at the villain’s doorstep one night. They’re shivering, bleeding, scared... Looking up at the villain, swaying slightly as they’re close to passing out, they mumble “…didn’t know where else to go…” then collapse into the villain’s arms.
> 
> Written for CS September Sunshine! Title comes from "Trust" by Christina Perri.

Despite the heat of the fire, Emma shivered; she still wasn’t used to the noise—or better yet, lack thereof—of the forest. The  _ Enchanted  _ Forest. She shook her head; seriously, who had named this place? Even once she’d finally believed in it, she had to admit that it was contrite.

Anyways. It was too quiet—no cars, no people. While that might be a blessing—that she’d be able to hear any intruders immediately—it also meant that there was little else to fill the time but her own thoughts, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to be left with them at the moment.

What Aurora said was haunting her: “ _ I think he may have feelings for you _ .” There was still something odd about the princess’s sudden reappearance, and odder still that it was Hook, of all people, who let her go.

Maybe she was right; maybe Emma should have trusted him. But aside from Henry and maybe her da—David, there weren’t a whole lot of guys she was ready to do that with.

Over the crackle of the fire and the gentle snoring of her companions, her last interaction with Hook played in her head.

_ “Have I told you a lie?” _ His voice had been shaking—with rage or shock, she couldn't tell. 

_ “I can’t take a chance that I’m wrong about you,” _ she told him, trying to rationalize what was easily a dick move on her part. But he was a pirate, wasn’t he? Surely, he’d committed his fair share of those.

Or maybe there really had been something there? He wasn’t entirely wrong when he’d suggested they made a good team, and it was unnerving how easily he seemed to read and understand her—more than anyone had since Neal. She still didn’t know why she was so scared when that pile of rocks fell on him, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to analyze why.

But maybe that had something to do with the pang of remorse she felt when she turned her back on him and the utter betrayal in the way he was shouting her name.

Was it too late to go back? Find him wherever he was hiding and team up?

Or was it just another ruse by him and Cora?

Odds were good on both.

Thankfully, she couldn’t dwell on it any longer because there was finally some noise—even if the sound of someone stumbling through the forest wasn’t the most welcome of interruptions. If it was another one of those zombie things, she was never going to watch  _ The Walking Dead _ again.

As silently as she could manage—grace was never her strong suit, but she managed it well enough—she stood, grabbed Mulan's sword, and held it aloft, ready to decapitate whatever was coming towards them.

The body lumbered into their tiny clearing, unsteady on its feet. Emma tightened her grip.

But then it collapsed at her feet, a lanky pile of dark leather and mussed hair who coughed a bit and then rolled onto its back.

“Hook?” she whisper-yelled.

“Hey, beautiful,” he wheezed with an attempt at a flirty smile, then grimaced and curled into the hand that was pressed to his chest.

She really hoped her eyes were playing tricks on her. Because in the glow of the firelight, it looked like his hand was covered in blood.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

He took a deep breath, but then winced again. “I...I didn't know where else to go,” he murmured, then let his hand fall away from his chest.

Emma gasped at the sight: his shirt was pulled away, revealing even more of his chest than normal, but his skin was indeed covered with his own blood, seeping from a handful of puncture wounds around his heart. He’d clearly lost a lot of blood and was struggling to breathe and keep eye contact. 

She dropped to the ground next to him. “What—what happened?”

“Cora,” he spat. “Who else?”

“Was she trying to take your heart?” Admittedly, Emma didn't quite know how that whole thing worked.

He snorted—at least, she thought he did; it could have been another cough. “No; she's not that merciful. Thought it'd be more fun to watch me bleed out, apparently.” 

“Jesus,” Emma cursed, trying to inspect the damage in the dim light, but also not wanting to touch him and make anything worse. “Why?”

“Help me tend this and I’ll tell you.”

Oh, right—he was bleeding. Fuck, this was not covered in her high school first aid class. “I don't know—what—”

“Get pressure on it, please; I can’t—I’m too—”

“Got it.” She still had his scarf wrapped around her hand, but that cut was mostly healed. So she quickly unwrapped it, folded it, and placed it over the wounds. Gently, but firmly, she pressed down.

He bit back a cry, and she thought she saw a tear at the corner of his eye, but then he exhaled. “Thank you, love. That helps.”

“Okay. Now tell me what happened.”

\------------------------------------

_ Cora strode into the cave with confidence, not casting a glance in his direction—but her expression quickly faded to confusion when she realized her prisoner was gone. _

_ “Looking for someone?” Hook asked, turning up the charm as he stepped from the shadows. _

_ Cora was momentarily taken aback, but then scoffed. “Don't tell me you were dumb enough to let her go.” _

_ He sauntered forward. “She was never going to give you what you wanted, anyway.” But now, he could—and work his way back into Cora’s good graces at the same time. _

_ “So you freed her. And stuck around for the petty satisfaction of seeing me suffer.” _

_ In any other situation, that would have been the case; there were plenty of people he’d likely do that with—particularly the Crocodile. But he’d have to play nice with Cora if he ever wanted to reach that goal. “Watching you is a tempting motivation, but it wasn't that.” _

_ “Well then, you must have a death wish.” Suddenly, he was flying backwards, slamming into the stone wall of the cave; that was definitely going to leave him a headache. When he’d shaken the stars from his vision, he realized she’d manipulated the rock into cuffs around his wrists, both restraining him and holding him upright. He struggled against them, but there were no fissures or weak spots; it wouldn't give. Then she was in front of him, unlocking his hook from his brace, and pressing the tip of it against his chest. “You know I have to kill you,” she purred. _

_ Oh, if only she knew. “You should try thanking me.” _

_ That took her by surprise. “Oh, really? Why is that?” But she still had steel pressed against his skin and was dragging it over where his heart was rapidly beating. _

_ He didn’t make it this far by cowering to intimidation, though. “Because I brought you a gift. It's in the satchel,” he explained as casually as he could, nodding down at the bag slung across his body. _

_ “What is it?” she demanded. He had her interest. _

_ “Customarily, surprise is part of the fun of gift giving. Open it.” _

_ She tugged it off, ripping the weak leather strap, and opened the pouch. Her expression morphed from confusion to disbelief. “Is that...?” _

_ He nodded. “Indeed, it is. And with it you'll get everything you want.” _

\------------------------------------

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Emma nearly yelled. “You took her fucking heart?”

“Aye,” he replied, but in a tone that implied he was at least slightly remorseful for it. “So if you could keep it down and not wake the sleeping beauty, lest Cora know I’m here, I’d appreciate it.”

“Why should I help you after you did that?”

“Because I want to help you get it back and get home. You’re the only person I trust in this bloody realm.”

“Have you ever thought that maybe you have a tendency to burn bridges and that’s why you have so many enemies?”

“Oh, and you haven't done anything similar lately, have you?”

Emma was silent at that; she couldn't exactly refute it, especially to him. “Yeah, but the more you talk, the more I’m confident in my decision.”

“Then let me finish.”

“Fine.”

\------------------------------------

_ “It was Hook. He let me go.” There was an odd novelty to watching Cora pretend to mimic the princess’s voice as she dictated through her heart. It wasn’t the most convincing thing, if he was being honest, but he’d certainly seen worse. _

_ He wasn’t close enough to the heart to hear what was happening on the other end of the conversation, chained as he still was to the wall, but given that Cora was calm, he had to assume they were buying it. _

_ “Because of you,” Cora said. “He said he wanted to prove to you that you should have trusted him. That if you had trusted him…” Cora smirked and threw a glance his way. “...you could have defeated Cora together. That the two of you could have gotten the remains of the wardrobe. Without him, you'll have to go up against her all by yourself. He only wants to help. I...I think he might care for you.” _

_ That wasn’t entirely untrue, honestly. Emma had impressed him right away with her tenacity and intolerance to his bullshit; very few had seen through him so easily and it was oddly refreshing to not have to put up a front with someone. Her subsequent betrayal stung more that he was willing to let on—just another reminder of why he closed himself off. _

_ But he couldn’t let Cora know she was right. So he settled with a casual, “Nice touch, that.” _

_ She dropped her arm that held the heart and turned back to him. “You know, she won't trust you.” _

_ He was already well aware of that. “She doesn't have to. All I need is her to believe that I was genuine letting the girl go. Which, in a way, she does now. You're welcome.” _

_ She pocketed the heart and came closer, then pulled his hook back from the other side of her skirts, where she’d stashed it earlier. He couldn't tell, though, if she meant to give it back or not. _

_ Fine, then, He could start things. “Now, can we go on with the business going to Storybrooke? Together?” He attempted to lean forward, but the restraints held fast. _

_ “Alas, I’m afraid I still can’t do that, Hook.” _

_ His heart fell into his stomach. “Why the bloody hell not?” _

_ “You think this proved anything?” she countered. “All it did was show me you’re a good lap dog to whoever will give you the most. Tell me truthfully: were you actually going to team up with her and leave me behind?” _

_ “No,” he answered, but even he didn't believe his lie. He had been honest when he told them they were better—and safer—company; the present situation was proof enough. _

_ She got closer and started swinging his hook on her finger, and he was noting the gleam of malice in her dark eyes.  _

_ “There's no room for error, here, Hook, and I'm afraid you’ve committed one too many now. And if there's one thing I can't stand, it's a bootlicker.” _

_ Rage ran through his veins. “That's what you think I am? A kiss-arse?” _

_ “Something along those lines. It’s pathetic, really.” _

_ “I’ll show you pathetic,” he snarled, trying again to spring free but the binds held firm. Those words may have described him once, but that was a lifetime ago.  _

_ Cora just laughed at him. “Tell you what: how about I just put you out of your misery now and save you the embarrassment?” _

_ “What?”  _

_ Before he could think further, sharp pain erupted in his chest. She’d stabbed him—with his own hook. Briefly, she twisted it in his flesh, drawing an involuntary yell, before yanking it out; immediately, he felt blood seeping from the fresh wound. _

_ Then she did it again. And again. And again, twice more, in a circle above his heart, cutting deeper each time into the muscle of his chest and extracting deeper screams and more blood with every one. He tried to slump to the floor, to relieve any of the pain, but the stone cuffs wouldn’t let him. _

_ “Please,” he panted. “If you want to kill me, just crush my heart.” He’d asked for that once and been denied; maybe this time would be different. _

_ “But where's the fun in that? You’ll bleed out so much slower this way.” _

_ “Witch,” he cursed. _

_ “Yes, that’s accurate,” she agreed. “But they don't call me the Queen of Hearts for nothing. Each of these stab points is just outside the heart—not enough to kill you outright, but able to draw the most pain.” _

_ She stabbed him once more, right above the heart—not as deep, but she dragged this one a bit. “And they do bleed an awful lot.” _

_ With a wave of her hand, the restraints finally disappeared, and he fell to the floor in a graceless heap. She tossed his hook on the ground, where it landed a few feet away. _

_ “Well, it's been nice knowing you. Sorry about the revenge thing, but surely you understand where I'm coming from.” _

_ The sad thing was: he did. He wouldn't let her have the last word. “I hope you fail,” he panted out, even though every word sent a searing pain through his chest. “I hope they manage to get the better of you and you never see your daughter again.” _

_ “Unlikely,” she answered. “See you in the Underworld someday.” Then she disappeared in a cloud of smoke. _

_ He gave himself one long moment to dwell on the pain, which got worse with each heartbeat. He placed his hand on his chest and his fingers came back dripping red. _

_ He had two options here: let death come, which would be easiest, but certainly the least fulfilling. Or. _

_ Or. _

_ He could seek out the band of princesses and pray they'd take pity on him. Emma would believe him—she’d know right away if he was lying, and despite what she might believe, he’d been truthful with her thus far. But that was the only way he could think of to survive this, and his only chance now of getting his revenge. _

_ It took far more effort than he cared to expend, but after a few staggering tries, he was upright, leaning on a wall and panting with his hand clinging to his chest, pressing on it as much as he could to staunch the flow. “Here goes nothing,” he said to himself as he took a step forward, then another, and kept going until he was out in the dusky forest.  _

\------------------------------------

“And here I am now,” he breathed, but his breaths were getting more and more labored.

“Why should I believe any of that?” Emma asked, pressing just a bit harder on his wounds. What kind of fool did he take her for? How did she know he didn't stab himself?

“Am I lying?” he asked, his voice getting weaker.

She wanted to confirm that he was, but nowhere in that tall tale had her bullshit detector gone off. Dammit. “No,” she conceded.

“I promise, I want to help.”

She swallowed. “So you were telling the truth when you said that to Aurora?”

His brow furrowed. “I wasn't then, but I am now.”

Still true.

“Please, Swan; help me here, and I promise I'll do everything I can to get you back to your boy.”

Even in the shadows, she could see the sincerity in his blue eyes. And really, it was her fault Cora did this in the first place; the least she could do was make sure he didn’t die. 

“Okay,” she said with a nod.

He gave her half a smile, but that was the most he seemed to be able to muster. And then he winced again, but he also gave a low groan.

“Alright, what do we need to do?”

“He needs stitches.” Emma nearly jumped; Mary Margaret was standing over her shoulder, looking down on both of them.

“Oh my god, how long have you been there?”

“Long enough,” she answered, then knelt next to them. “We need to clean and disinfect the wounds, then stitch them up. I should have a needle somewhere, but I'm low on thread, unless you're okay with powder blue, Hook.”

“Sounds lovely, milady,” he answered, oddly politely.

“Okay. I’ll get that; not sure how we can disinfect it, though.”

Emma winced at her own memory, but she knew what they had to do. “He’s got rum.”

“That'll have to work.”

Hook groaned, but she wasn't sure it was in general, or at what was about to come.

Mary Margaret ran to her bag quietly to get supplies, and Emma turned her attention back to Hook. “Where's your flask?” 

His hand began searching, eventually pulling it out of a hidden pocket in his vest. “I suppose this will be payback, eh?”

“I guess.” She uncorked the flask—with her hand, even though the memory of him using his mouth was something she wouldn’t admit to finding attractive—and pulled back her other hand from his chest. His blood had soaked through the scarf and was definitely all over her palm, but she had to set it aside and pushed back his shirt the rest of the way, fully exposing that half of his (very nice) chest. “Okay; think you can keep the volume down?”

He gave a curt nod. “I’ll try.”

She took a deep breath and then, before she could think about it any longer, poured. His entire face clenched in pain, but he didn't let out any more than a high-pitched whimper as she sanitized the area. She didn’t miss the tears now running down his cheeks, but she wouldn’t say a thing about it. She definitely knew a thing or two about dealing with pain on your own.

She found a clean corner of the blood-soaked rag and managed to get the punctures as clear as possible just as her mother was threading the needle. “Yeah, those are deep,” Mary Margaret said. “This may take a bit. Don’t pass out on me, Hook.”

“I’ll try.”

He was pretty brave as the needle first went in. But it became obvious that he was putting on a brave face as they continued on. His hand was in a fist so tight that she could see the white of his knuckles even in the dark.

She’d been there—she totally had, especially when she’d given birth to Henry. She’d had a death grip on the edge of the hospital bed and would have given anything for a hand to hold. 

Even if that was a significantly more painful experience, and surely Hook had dealt with worse when he lost his hand, it still wasn't a pain she’d wish on anything. So she placed her hand on top of his fist, working her fingers into his grip until he loosened it enough for them to slip in.

Once he realized what she was doing, his gaze darted up to hers—definitely in surprise. She gave him a small smile back and squeezed his hand.

His face relaxed and he gave a light squeeze back.

It didn't take very long for Mary Margaret to get him stitched up; Emma expected it to take all night, but clearly, her mother had first aid experience beyond whatever was required of an elementary school teacher. But that—and all of her mother's survival skills—were a conversation for another day.

“That should do it,” she said softly, gently patting the last suture. “Thanks for being a good patient.”

“Are you a healer or something in this other realm?” he asked, clearly feeling a bit better now that he wasn’t losing blood.

“Nope. I learned all that here. Now get some rest. You too, Emma.”

Emma was going to protest, but a yawn betrayed her. “You've got next watch?”

“I'm on it. And I'll try to head the other two off in the morning.”

Oh, thank God; Emma did not want to be the one to explain this recent change in allegiances—or the present location of Aurora’s heart; hopefully her mother also knew diplomatic ways to hold off an assasination attempt by Mulan.

“Sleep tight,” Mary Margaret said as she stood, then bent down to place a kiss on Emma’s head. The warmth she felt from it was foreign, but also something shed craved her entire life.

But, as Mary Margaret walked away, Emma suddenly felt awkward now that it was just her and Hook. And she needed sleep. 

“Okay, I’ll just hop over there—”

“Stay?” Hook interrupted, quietly and so innocently, a softness in his blue eyes she hadn't seen before.

Well, fuck. How could she say no to that?

“O-okay,” she said, nodding like a bobblehead, and shifted down to lay next to him. He still hadn’t let go of her hand. “Don't die tonight, alright?”

“I shouldn’t,” he said, sincerely.

“Good.”

She settled on her back, staring up at the unfamiliar stars through the trees.

“What, no good night kiss?” he teased; she could feel his eyes on her.

“Go to sleep,” she tossed back, but turned her head away from him so he couldn't see her smirk. It was probably a good sign that he was already back to his annoying flirtatious ways.

It didn't take long for his gentle snores to sound out. And as she too drifted off, all she could think was that, maybe someday, he’d get that kiss.

But first, they had to get home. 


End file.
